


I Can't Sleep in Silence

by countbluelie



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Potential Crossover, Slow Burn, Sort of AU maybe?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 16:10:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countbluelie/pseuds/countbluelie
Summary: Post season 1. After Villanelle disappeared, Eve is forced to face the consequences of her own actions as she slowly re-learns who she is. When she gets a second chance to find Villanelle, she is determined to do things the right way this time around. Kinda AU.





	I Can't Sleep in Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is an idea I've been playing around with in my head after the S1 finale, and since this is my first work for this fandom, please let me know what you think! I'm always happy to read your comments :) Each chapter is inspired by a song or two. All mistakes are mine as this is not Beta'd, and sadly, I do not own any of the characters, nor do I profit from this work.

 

don’t you know it’s torturous?

\- Turnerjoy, [Torturous](https://youtu.be/qenxpJZtrzA)

 

 

_She’s gone._

Eve walked back into Villanelle’s apartment and closed the door behind her without turning away from the bedroom, slowly, carefully, as if she were approaching a wounded beast --

_Wounded was the right word alright Eve, if not a cowardly underestimating one. Sure, Oksana is unpredictable and dangerous, but despite her impressive history of violence, she was a beast that trusted you enough to leave her gun on the floor after she had confirmed that she wouldn’t kill you. And what did you do with that trust, Eve? What did you do?_

\-- except that she knows the beast is long gone, and all that welcomed her was her shameful outburst: shattered glass everywhere and sticky liquid all over the wooden floors, the air suffocating with the smell of expensive champagne going sour mixed with blood.

God, the blood.

_What have I done?_

She stared at the mess for a few seconds and went into the bathroom to look for cleaning supplies. Assassins should have those on hand, right? For...cleaning purposes? Body disposal? Evidence removal? All of the above? None of the above? With a brilliant mind like Villanelle’s, Eve thinks there must be some other obscure and creative reason for the surprisingly neat collection under the bathroom sink.

She grabbed a used bottle of bleach and a scrub and heads back into the bedroom, all the while trying very hard not to think about how awful things have turned out, and especially not about what she could have been doing right now had things gone a bit differently. Whom she could have been doing things t- WITH _._ With.

Eve got down on her knees at the foot of the bed and starts scrubbing.

 _She killed Bill,_ Eve reminds herself at the same time she thinks _all those times she could’ve killed me, she didn’t._ She tries again to reason with herself as her fingers start to sting a little from the bleach. _She’s a psychopath_ , she tells herself. _She killed Bill._

She’s trying so hard to remember her uncontainable rage from when she stormed out of the chapel seconds into Frank-the-dickswab’s stupid speech, to muster up the same quiet fury that made her promise Elena outside the chapel she’ll kill Villanelle when they find her, but she hadn’t realized how difficult staying mad at the assassin had become over the course of their cat-and-mouse game. She still feels pained whenever she closes her eyes and sees Bill slowly crumbling to the ground in the nightclub as people all around them kept on dancing, blissfully unaware of the tragedy unfolding in front of them; but at the same time, she feels guilty because whenever she sees her own reflection, she also sees catlike eyes and honey-colored hair and hears the words _wear it down_ , and she does.

_I’m scrubbing her floor right now for God’s sake!_

She looks down at her hand and absentmindedly notes that it’s red.

_From the bleach maybe? Is that normal? I should Google this. But my hands are wet with bleach...I should probably wash my hands first, it might help with the stinging. I hope my skin doesn’t fall off when I rub it. Would bleach do that? I really need to Google this later._

Taking one final look at the floor, Eve decides that it’s as good as it’s going to get and walks into the bathroom to wash her hands. She doubts that Villanelle will be returning here, so hopefully the realtor and potential new tenants won’t stare too hard at the bedroom floor. She wonders if that will be the case at all. If this apartment belongs to the Twelve, they would probably send in their own professional (and definitely more efficient) cleaning crew.

She wonders how many times Villanelle’s apartment had required their services. She wonders whether this is the first time Villanelle’s blood has been spilled in this apartment.

_I just… want to know everything._

Looking in the mirror, Eve takes in her unruly hair, the wild look in her eyes, her uneven breathing, and she realizes with a jolt that underneath the adrenaline that’s starting to cool down, she’s worried for Villanelle, who is missing at the moment and bleeding out at only God-knows-where. Villanelle, whom she stabbed. Villanelle, who told her not to take the knife out yet she still did because when has she ever listened to anyone other than herself?

_I stabbed her. She killed Bill and I was so mad, so when I saw the opportunity I stabbed her but I didn’t want to, not really, only I didn’t realize it until after I had done it oh my God what have I done?_

Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she supposes that the only comfort she can take in this messed-up situation is that with her inexplicable obsession with female assassins, she is most definitely not a killer after all. And maybe also the fact that while Villanelle did shoot at her before disappearing, she didn’t hit her, meaning she probably just wanted Eve to back off so she could make a run for it. Eve refuses to believe that with all her skill and training, Villanelle would miss simply because she was stabbed in the stomach. God, she would’ve laughed at herself for being worried if she wasn’t so confused about the whole thing right now. If Bill could see her right now--

And the thought sobers her up immediately.

 

* * *

 

As she walks down the street, Eve contemplates her options.

She could go back to London and figure things out from there. Sure, she’s currently jobless, but maybe Carolyn would give her another chance if she tells her about this...incident. After all, Carolyn did think she was smart enough to be a spy, and she’d like to think that spies get disowned and rehired all the time as long as they’re still good at their job, and Eve is confident that she is very good at her job, thank you very much, except perhaps up till the point where she stabbed someone and instantly regretted it.

Maybe she can sell it as an opportunity for them to regroup and focus on the Twelve while Villanelle is (hopefully) laying low from her injury? Although she’s not sure if she still trusts Carolyn after everything she found out, so whether she’s going back to her remains to be seen. Oh well. She can decide on that when she’s actually back in London.

She briefly considers the state of her marriage.

Niko is a good man, and throughout their entire relationship he was nothing but kind and patient and caring and understanding. Until he stopped understanding. Things between them had been smooth and predictable, if not a bit boring, but she had always assumed that boring was how it’s supposed to be, so she had convinced herself to be content with the way things were because what more could she want on top of a nice husband, a house they share together, and a dull but steady job?

Turns out she actually wanted a lot more, and the international assassin who had opened her eyes to this fact also showed her that Niko -- good, kind, patient, caring, understanding Niko -- would never be able to give her those things. After getting a taste of the bits and pieces that make up the deadly yet alluring enigma that is Villanelle, Eve can no longer go back to her old self without pretending not to know what’s out there for her. She doesn’t doubt that Niko would welcome her back with open arms if she asked for a chance to make things right, but she just doesn’t know if it’s enough for her anymore.

She wonders when she started settling for simply enough.

A series of loud growls from her stomach surprised her ( _shouldn’t I be nauseous after stabbing someone?_ ) but then an unbidden memory of Villanelle eating voraciously at her dinner table made her chuckle fondly before she caught herself.

 

* * *

 

Rounding up the corner, she walks into a cozy-looking cafe and, after being informed by the waiter in accented English that she would have to share a table with a stranger unless she’s okay with waiting indefinitely (“Madame, zis is a cafe, so we do not ask le customers to go unless we are closing...”), she gets seated by the window with a stern-looking dark-haired woman playing what seems to be Scrabble on her phone.

The waiter comes over, sets down a glass of water and a menu, and walks back to the counter before Eve could start panicking about reading and ordering in French without knowing how to string a coherent sentence in the language asides from a few touristy need-to-knows.

As if sensing her inner turmoil, the woman sitting across from her looked up and regarded her silently for a few seconds before her lips quirked upwards:

“American?” Eve sagged with relief.

“Oh God, yes.” Hesitating a little as she watches her companion’s eyes take in her frazzled appearance, Eve felt the beginnings of yet another rumble and thought to herself _screw it, I’m not passing out from hunger just because I’m being silently judged by the one person who might be able to help me order some food_. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak any French, do you- would you mind…?”

“No, not at all,” the woman said agreeably, already attracting the attention of their waiter with an elegant nod. “Do you know what you want?”

“If they have croissants I’ll take one. Any one will do. And coffee please, a strong one.”

“You got it.”

Eve observed her while she ordered, secretly impressed as she listened to her perfect rapid-fire French. Attractive, late thirties or early forties, confident, definitely intelligent, well-dressed, but sitting alone and clearly not waiting for someone. No ring or indentation on her finger. On a business trip maybe? Or an expat.

After their waiter left with the order, her companion turned back to her and smiled teasingly. “I take it you didn’t come to the city of love to learn its beautiful language?”

Eve laughs at that: “I wish. I was here to-” _To what, exactly?_ _To catch a killer, who happened to be infuriating and beautiful and ruthless, only to almost kiss her but really stab her at the last minute?_ “-to, uh, to...find some...answers,” she finishes weakly, sounding entirely unconvincing to her own ears and feeling incredibly stupid. She groaned and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Wow. That did not go well for you, huh.” Meeting dark eyes twinkling with humor, Eve was saved from answering by the arrival of the loveliest chocolate croissant she has ever seen and two steaming cups of coffee.

As she inhales her pastry (it really is the best she’s ever had), she chats with her new friend (more like encourages her to talk as she listens intently and makes the necessary noises in between mouthfuls of food) and finds out that: 1) she’s called Emily, 2) she’s also from the States, and 3) she has a wicked sense of sarcastic humour Elena definitely would’ve adored.

Apart from that, however, Emily disclosed very little, preferring to recount the places she’s been and the people she’s seen rather than the things she’s done or why she travels, which only stoked Eve’s curiosity and temporarily distracted her from the day’s events.

 

“So,” Eve begins as she tries not to down the delicious coffee in one gulp, “what brings you here? You clearly don’t need French lessons.”

Emily chuckles a bit as she puts down her empty cup and stands up with her bag and coat on her arms in one surprisingly fluid motion ( _when did she…? Is she going somewhere?_ ). Seeing Eve’s slightly confused expression, Emily relents, but not before dropping a couple of crisp bills neatly between them on the table.

“I was hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, but I guess I got lucky.” She gave Eve a friendly wink. “I’ll see you around, Eve, so it'll be your treat next time. Try not to get yourself fired again too soon.”

And with that, she strode out of the cafe and disappeared into the night.

Dumbfounded but also intrigued, it wasn't until Eve was halfway back to London did she scare the other passengers with a loud gasp at the realization that she had never told Emily anything about her getting fired.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts?


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